


hands

by amandamonroe



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e11 Mis Dos Padres, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandamonroe/pseuds/amandamonroe
Summary: In Mexico, the same hands that flayed his father's back open are now intertwined with those of a beautiful woman.claim #167 for Revolution: The Second Coming
Relationships: Connor Bennett & Bass Monroe, Connor Bennett/Rachel Matheson
Kudos: 3
Collections: Revolution: The Second Coming





	hands

**Author's Note:**

> This probably should've been posted here, oh six years ago? Better late than never though, right...?
> 
> I wrote this literal YEARS ago. My prompt was "hands" and the relationships that I focused on were Connor and Bass, and Connor and Rachel. I haven't edited it or reread it prior to posting, so there may be typos or whatnot. Also, not sure what the rating should be, so let me know if I need to change it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of any recognizable content. I do not make any money from this. This is purely for fun.

When his father comes for him, Connor can’t say that he’s surprised. A part of him has been expecting this his whole life; hell, when he was younger, it could’ve been classified as hoped. The child of a single mother in such a rough world? That had been bad enough, but being sent to live with relatives hurt. Connor hadn’t felt any relation to them, had wanted a parent to love him. The idea of someone sweeping in and saving him from poverty and hunger was his boyhood dream. But now, meeting his father isn’t fulfilling or joyful; it’s inconvenient and painful.

Sebastian Monroe—aka daddy dearest—shows up in his town with two other middle aged white people, covered in the signs of travel and so obviously out of place that Connor would feel bad for them, if sympathy had every been one of his driving emotions.

When he finally speaks with Monroe as father and son, as it were, the hostility and bitterness is just as potent as it was when they first laid eyes on each other. At least, it is on Connor’s part. Oh Monroe tries, you can almost see him backtrack when the man with him introduces them as father and son. And in that moment, it all spirals.

Then, time gets a little shaky. Connor remembers what he did of course, but his actions take on a surreal quality: tying up Monroe, delivering him to Nunez. Conversations about family and loyalty dance between Spanish and English, a glass of whiskey and a pistol. It’s too much, too much conflict. Not the violence, he’s got no problems with that, but the inner turmoil is eating at him. Swallowing his whiskey means forcing down the feel of his own heartbeat racing in the back of his throat, and holding tight to his glass so that it doesn’t slip through his sweaty palms. All the torches and fireplaces are getting to him, and his curls—the ones that match Monroe, fuck that familial resemblance, he doesn’t need these reminders—are starting to cling to the back of his neck. A button goes flying when he pulls open the collar of his shirt.

Soon enough, it’s time for a punishment. Connor doesn’t know if it fights the crime or not, though. Monroe showed up looking for his son, but he’s a terrible person—but terrible people don’t give the gun they were just aiming at you back to you. They don’t look you in the eyes like you’re the best thing they’ve ever seen, they just don’t and Connor isn’t sure what to do anymore.

Nunez gives him the whip and then it’s really happening. He’s holding the smooth leather coil in this palms and meeting his father’s eyes.

The first strike is easier, much more so than Connor had expected. Maybe it’s all that disappointment he’d been holding in, those empty childhood dreams, but whatever the reason, it brings him catharsis. At least, for the first couple strikes.

The crowd is going wild, their bloodlust suddenly so much stronger than Connor’s and that’s it; he’s done. The repetitive motion in his right arm is no longer cleansing, it’s painful. His father is supposed to be tonight’s sick entertainment, but damn that man’s pride. Connor can now see where he gets it from, as Monroe grits his teeth and takes it, desperate not to show weakness. As he continues, Connor hopes that from this distance, no one in the crowd can tell that he’s trying not to cry.

By the time it’s over, Connor wishes he was feeling as overwhelmed as before, because now he just feels sick. He wants to vomit over the stone walls, take his own suitcoat and drape it over the gory welts on his father’s back, the welt’s he left; goddamn it all, he’d just tortured his own father.

When Monroe’s eyes meet his over the guard’s head, Connor desperately hopes that there was another trait he shared with his father: He hoped Monroe could read the apology as clearly in his eyes as he could read the forgiveness in his father’s.

* * *

Rachel stumbles through the crowd, the previously warm night air now clammy on her bare arms and throat. She feels sick, and how twisted was that? Sebastian Monroe had been (indirectly- she understood that now, but her _child_ ) responsible for the death of her son, and she just got to witness him being whipped by his own progeny. There was karma there, she supposed. As a woman of science, she didn’t usually believe in that sort of thought process, but for Sebastian Monroe, she could convert. Be that as it may, such a private betrayal displayed for the public like that struck close to home. Charlie had never physically struck her ( _but you hit her_ , that insidious little voice in the back of her head reminds her) but her daughter had no qualms about using words as weapons, and she had a seemingly inexhaustible arsenal.

She quickens her steps and shakes herself out of her hazy state, creeping around the back of the mansion. She’s there with a purpose, and that purpose is not to reflect.

As she passes a brick pillar at the edge of a surprisingly tidy patio, she spots a glass door that seemed to lead into a living room. Perfect.

Just as she reaches for the handle, it opens, and she locks gazes with Connor. Shit.

Before she can even think of trying to run, Connor grabs her and shoves her against the brick wall blocking them from the view of the rest of the party, such as it were. She tenses, expecting pain- after all, isn’t that all the Monroes do? Cause her pain?- but all Connor does is shush her.

“Hey, hey shhhh. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispers, and his hands relax on her waist as she slowly nods. “I know why you’re here, I’m trying to help you.”

“What do you mean ‘help me’?” Hadn’t she just witnessed him torturing his own father? Maybe she was losing it. Again.

To her surprise, Connor looks upset. His eyes are dark, darker even than Miles’, an ebony in the torchlight. His hair is similar, all tousled and wild, clinging to the sweat at his temples. His thumbs have slipped under the hem of her tank, and with a shock, Rachel realizes that she finds him attractive. This man-boy-person is how many years younger than her? Just as she starts to dwell on it, he starts talking again.

“I shouldn’t have done it, but I don’t think I had a choice, I-” Connor stops abruptly, peering back towards the party. She turns her head too, hearing the laughing that signals approaching partygoers. People who will easily recognize her as not being one of the whores who usually hang out by the pool.

Connor’s hands are on her wrists again, he’s suddenly so close that she can taste his breath on her lips. “Follow my lead,” he whispers, and presses impossibly closer.

Rachel squirms as Connor pins her hand high above her head, his fingers curling sensuously around hers. He has nice hands, she thinks in a distracted way. She can feel the body-warm metal of a ring between her fingers, and she squeezes his hand.

He’s got a thigh pressed between her legs in the next second and his face in the crook of her neck. Rachel has to bite her tongue to hold back a gasp because this isn’t real, it’s just to prevent detection. As soon as those people move past them, she has to go find Miles.

Ugh, Miles. He’s been too distracted by Monroe lately to even have a conversation with her, much less t-

“Oh,” she breathes out, because he’s not just resting his face against her neck anymore, there are lips lightly sucking on the skin there. She know she tastes salty, like sweat and dirt and if this was twenty years ago and they’d met in a bar, he would have pulled back, disgusted. But Connor isn’t pulling back. Instead, he’s shifted his grip on her hands.

Their fingers are still linked together above her head, and that damn ring is such a strong point of contact, but he’s also slowly drawing down the other arm, pulling hers with.

The bricks had been cool and rough against her skin, such a contrast to the way his warm fingers slide back and forth against the skin there now, and she decides that it might be time to return the favor. After all, the party doesn’t seem to be dying down anytime soon.

With her free arm, Rachel reaches out and grabs a handful of hair, tugging him away from her neck just enough to make eye contact. She expected him to look bored or angry. Instead, his eyes are slightly glazed over, and even in the dim torchlight she can tell that his tanned cheeks are flushed.

Before Rachel can even think about what she’s doing, she grinds forward against his thigh, still pinning her firmly to the wall. This time, he’s the one to gasp, biting his lip. He leans even closer, and she can see the smooth line of his throat, dipping into the collar of his jacket. Reaching forward she purposefully nips at the skin there, breathing him in. Now she’s the one who’s in the lead, and Connor doesn’t seem to have any problems with that.

Letting go, she leans up slides her lips against his, tasting a faint trace of blood where he’d bitten through the skin. As she licks into his mouth, she yanks him closer with the press of her nails to his scalp. She swallows the accompanying moan and focuses on getting closer to him, helped along by his arm wrapping around her back, between her and the bricks. The angle presses her breasts forward against his chest and he pulls back.

Rachel’s just about to say something- she’s not entirely sure what, it’s been a long time since she’s done this- when he ducks to press open mouthed kisses to the top of her chest, nudging the tank down with his nose as it gets in the way.

He’s being so gentle with her, it’s a shock. She thought there’d be more bite to his kisses, a bruising pressure to his hands, but there isn’t. On the contrary, she’s being the rough one. It’s a role reversal that Rachel finds herself enjoying, so she presses more insistently against him. She can easily feel that he’s hard now, but he isn’t moving. Instead, Connor brings there linked hands down- she was enjoying that so much she didn’t even realize her fingers had went numb- and grabs the back of her leg.

Not needing anymore encouragement, she wraps it around his waist, and tightens her grip on his neck. She’s panting now, and just about to reach for the front of his trousers when she hears her name shouted.

They both freeze, and Connor tightens the grip he has on the back of her leg in a manner that strikes her as strangely protective. Looking off, she spots Miles and Monroe staggering towards the empty patio. She’d feel guilty for continuing their ruse when the area had long since cleared, but from the feel of things Connor had been enjoying himself just as much as she had.

Soon though, she has to unwrap herself from her would-be lover and follow the two idiots- seriously, how the fuck did they manage to run an empire? They looked like a gory version of the Stooges, staggering along as they were- as they flee Nunez’s scattered forces. To her shock, Connor links his fingers with hers and follows.

* * *

Over the next few days, she doesn’t get the chance to finish what she started with Connor. They talk late at night, and she gets to know him a little bit better. What she learns saddens her, but gives her hope; this Monroe seems to be sane, rational, and a little bit lonely.

They arrive in Willoughby and it’s back to playing doctor. The Two Idiots (that’s what she’s calling them from now on. Seriously, once they were in the clear in Mexico, all they’d done was stare at her. Monroe had sputtered a bit, mainly about how much younger Connor was, but seriously? The both of them seem to forget how well she knows them; they’re hardly innocent of robbing the cradle themselves.) put Connor to work helping them to avert disaster. Part of this plan involves putting him into a Patriot’s uniform that she can’t take her eyes off. Now that she can see how nice of an ass he’s got, she really wants to feel it.

Once one crisis is averted, the Two Idiots decide that they need more manpower, and head off to New Vegas, taking Charlie with them. Or, rather, Charlie invited herself along. Rachel starts to worry about her daughter, then stops herself. She’s being escorted by two of the arguably most dangerous men on the continent, one of which is related by blood to her and the other who seems to think it’s his new mission in life to guard her. She’ll be fine. The Two Idiots might be a little worse for wear though.

They asked Connor if he wanted to come, but he turned them down, saying that he wanted to “get a bit more familiar” with the town.

Not five minutes after they leave, Rachel’s on her back on a dirt floor, with her legs over Connor’s shoulders as he eats her out, one hand pressed against her bare stomach and the other linked with her fingers.

She comes gasping his name, and they’re both smiling as she drags him up by a handful of hair to kiss her. 


End file.
